S Y W Y N
by George R. Powell
Summary: The dark gritty memoirs of one of Skyrim's unsung notorious figures: the mer assassin Sywyn K'tholan. (Work in progress)


**(Scholar's note) **

_(At last I have compiled the writings. They somehow managed to be scattered within the region surrounding Dawnstar. It seems they chronicle the deeds of one of Skyrim's most notorious figures: the half-blooded mer assassin Sywyn K'tholan. _

_(The nature of these writings is rather disturbing at points, but history beckons us to tell all stories as they truly happened, and Sywyn seems to have been quite detailed in his entries. _

_(With the discovery of these texts, we may finally understand the fate that befell the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary in northern Dawnstar.)_

- Giraud Gemane

Dean of History

Bard's College, Solitude

* * *

**-Entry 1- **

I see you found these writings. Hoping to learn something from them, I presume? Are you one of those so-called "bards" from Solitude searching for a way to express the dark side of nature in your songs?

Or perhaps you're a curious reader, trying to understand the mind of a killer...

Either way, whoever you are, I detest you. And before you smirk at my writing, as I'm sure you already have, understand that you have not walked where I've tread. You have not seen what I've seen. You've never felt the warmth of fresh blood invigorating your cold, soulless hands.

However, someone once told me that I should contribute something to the world...a legacy, if you will. I killed the fuck, of course; he's rotting in the Markarth Mines along with the other filth and waste that resides there.

So, I suppose I shall indulge his little comment by sating your sick desire to "understand" me. If these writings are all that I can pass on to the world when I've returned to my Void Father, then perhaps the name of Sywyn K'tholan might mean something to someone someday.

_(The writing excerpt stops here)_

* * *

**-Part 2-**

One would say that life is difficult for an orphan. I, on the other hand, took comfort in being the son of an Altmer mother and Bosmer father - you get the best of both worlds: a natural inclination for the arcane and the raw instinct of a forest-dweller.

Did I know my birth parents? Not very well. I was still a child when my mother was ravaged by a pack of hungry wolves. I remember watching my father hacking away at them with his rust-coated sword as they tore at her flesh. And odd as it may seem to you, I found myself numbed of emotion as I watched her die. In fact, the sight was somewhat fascinating. I'd always wondered what was inside of us that made us live.

And to see what it looks like to watch the candle of life flicker out in but an instant - that too was intriguing. So much so that I became curious to try it out for myself.

I was a child when I received my first taste of the life to come. I lived with my father in our rotted shack located in the marshes of western Hjaalmarch just before the border to The Reach and South of Solitude. One evening, a snow fox wandered onto our land. He saw me sitting outside with my carving knife, stabbing the firewood piled up against the wall. In his curiosity, he crept closer to me, taking interest in my downtrodden appearance. It was then that I looked up and our eyes met. He stood in silent pause, his front paw suspended in mid-walk as if he was examining me to assess a threat. I just stared right back at him.

After a moment, he continued to approach until he was up toward my lap where he proceeded to circle around himself and lie down in the frozen mud, using my legs to warm himself.

Intrigued, I rubbed my hand gently across his fur coat. The contact of my hand caused his head to swing up and his ears to perk, but as he turned to see that it was I who was stroking him, he calmed himself and surrendered to my touch.

That is when I felt the itch for the first time. 'twas like a burning sensation in the back of my head; an ominous presence was behind me, watching with expectation as if he knew what I was about to do...or perhaps it was he who was persuading me without uttering a single word.

The desire grew within me. I had a life, a lit candle, freely given into my hands, surrendered to my will. It was in my power, in this very moment, to extinguish its flame. In my youthful curiosity, I took my carving knife and forcefully sunk its blade into the creature's hind leg just to see what would happen.

The fox squeaked in pain, attempting to flee from me, but my weapon was burrowed deeply and my hand gripping it tightly that he could not escape.

His whimpering howl grew louder as he struggled to free himself. I never saw his flame ignited like it was in that moment! It seemed as though his candle was fighting to remain lit at all costs. I felt a rush overwhelm my body; my first reaction was to cease its incessant squealing!

Taking hold of his neck, I tore the knife from him and plunged it repeatedly into his body, a squeal resounding with every thrust. His blood flowed all over my hands and clothing, bringing a warmth I've never felt. To my child-like mind, it was the very light of his candle being freed from his frail body. The more I gouged at his flesh, the more his struggling wore down until finally I saw it again: the beauty of the flame extinguishing! The smoke pouring from the fresh, heated wick was all that remained in this creature as it lie limp in my blood-soaked hands.

I'd done it! The burning feeling subsided enough and I felt as though the presence watching me was applauding my efforts. I had achieved the power of a god! To grant Life or Death to a living creature...it was a great power...perhaps too great a power for a child to have. Too powerful for my father to understand.

_(This entry cuts off here and continues on the next)_


End file.
